


Band-Aids Don’t Fix Bullet Holes

by gaily-daily (passionateartist)



Series: bullet holes [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M, More angst, bet you all thought the sequel would be happy didn't you?, i'm a monster, more feelings, well you thought wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-11 23:42:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4457027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passionateartist/pseuds/gaily-daily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan can’t stop thinking about the way Fiddleford had felt against him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Band-Aids Don’t Fix Bullet Holes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to my fic Bullet Holes so if you haven't read that yet please do so or this won't make much sense!

_“Stanley what the hell are you doing?”_

_Two hazel eyes locked onto his and Stanley froze from his hiding place in the bushes. Okay, so maybe this hadn’t been the best choice for a hiding spot. But seriously, Fiddleford had to have supersonic hearing or something because he was ridiculously good at knowing where Stanley was at any given point._

_“Er...Fidds? Is that you?” He stood up from the bush and entered the clearing. “Wow, what a coincidence! I was just—“_

_“You’re following me aren’t you?” Fiddleford cut him off with an angry snap._

_Stanley waved his hand. “Pfft, of course not!”_

_“I’m not some weakling that you and Stanford have to protect you know!” Fiddleford defensively put his hands on his hips and Stanley’s eyes unconsciously followed the movement. “I’m allowed to go out on my own!”_

_“I didn’t say you weren’t, sheesh! Quite acting like a jilted broad!”_

_Fiddleford’s face reddened and Stanley couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face. It was always hilarious when he was able to rile the engineer up. This was no different._

_“Go back to the house!” Fiddleford looked ready to stamp his foot on the ground and Stanley swallowed down the laugh that threatened to bubble up. He was pretty sure the nerd would try to kill him if he took his teasing too far. He raised his hands in a non-threatening gesture. “Okay, okay! Don’t get your panties in a twist!”_

_“My panties are not in a twist!”_

_Annnnnnd there went the foot. Stanley pressed his lips together tightly. This was just pure gold right here! As he shakes in an effort to hold in his laughter, something falls out of his back pocket. Fiddleford stopped mid-rant._

_“What is that?” He points at the packet next to Stanley's feet._

_“Uh...jerky?”_

_Fiddleford narrowed his eyes and Stan knew he was in for it now. “Stanley what’s the rule on bringing food into the forest?”_

_“...to not do it?”_

_“And why is that?”_

_“Because it attracts creatures.”_

_“Oh, so you_ do _know. Because I was just wondering why you would have food in the forest when you clearly know how dangerous it is.”_

_Stanley sighed internally, this topic was boring. “I don’t need another lecture, Fidds. Look, the packet’s almost empty anyway! No harm done!”_

_Fiddleford’s face narrowed in a glare and Stanley mentally braced himself for the scolding of a lifetime when something suddenly shifted. He didn’t know what. It was just...something._

_Fiddleford blinked and shook his head. He took his glasses off for a moment and rubbed his eyes. Stanley stared at Fiddleford. Something, somewhere deep down, boiled in the pit of his stomach and hewas struck with a terrifying primal urge to bite the engineer on the lips. He didn’t know why or where the feeling had come from, but it grew stronger the longer Stanley looked at him._

_“Stan...ley?”_

_Were Fiddleford’s eyes always that wide? Had they always shone that brightly?_

_A hand reached out to stroke Fiddleford’s cheek and it took a moment for Stanley to register that it was his own. He marveled at the softness under his palm. His thumb stroked the bottom of Fiddleford’s lip and watched as the other man trembled underneath his touch. His blood began to quicken and his mouth went dry. Stanley’s other hand came up to rest on Fiddleford’s waist and he pulled him closer. He wanted to touch him. He wanted to kiss him._

_He wanted to Taste._

The memory breaks abruptly from Stanley’s mind as lays in his bed, listening to the sounds of morning flow through his open window. He was such a coward. Hiding away in here like this. He hasn’t shaved in a week. Stanford didn’t mention it much, though. Probably chalked it up to his brother’s lazy approach to hygiene. He groans and sits up. Time to attempt to start the day. 

It’d been getting harder to get up these days. He preferred to just wallow in his room. But to be honest it was starting to smell in here. He was starting smell too.

Stanley scratches his chin and ventures out to find the bathroom. Stanford was probably already in the lab by now. Fiddleford hadn’t come by in quite some time. He tries not to think about the reason why but it keeps floating to the top of his mind. 

He shuts the bathroom door and places his hands on either side of the sink. The face that looks back at him is weary and exhausted despite having slept for over 12 hours. Unwanted memories float to the surface of his mind and he tries to shake them away. He can’t get the sounds Fiddleford had made out of his head. He remembers every moan, every gasp, every time the engineer had said his name down to the last syllable.

He should have never followed Fiddleford into the forest. But the engineer had never gone off alone before and, naturally, Stanley had wondered what the man had been up to. But, as usual, he’d made a big mess of things. That was just who he was. The screw-up half of his brilliant twin brother. The idiot who couldn’t do anything right without Stanford’s help.

He swallows in shame.

Fiddleford had forged some cheap lie about recovering from a cold and had been avoiding the house. Stanford had worriedly offered to come over but Fiddleford declined. Saying it was fine and he just needed bed rest. Stanley had actually gone to the man’s apartment yesterday. He had probably looked like a kicked dog, standing in the hallway unable to knock. In the end he’d walked away, too afraid to face what he’d done. Fiddleford probably didn’t want to see him either, Stanley thinks to himself as he looks at his face in the mirror. Who’d ever want to see this ugly mug anyway?

He grips the skink’s edges and breathes out slowly. He couldn’t deny any more that his dreams were starting to take a startling turn from being guilt-filled to becoming something else entirely. In just this last one, Fiddleford had been smiling at him and laughing at something. Stanley remembered the happy buzzing in his chest at the way the engineer had leaned into him.

Stanley splashes a handful of water on his face and chases the dream away. His feelings were beginning to mesh and conflict with one another. He wasn’t sure what he felt for the smaller man anymore. He wasn’t sure of anything.

*

The hesitant knock on the door surprises both brothers. Stanley gets up from his place on the couch and opens the door only to freeze in place. Fiddleford stood awkwardly in the entrance, eyes darting past Stanley and avoiding looking at him directly.

“Fiddleford!” Stanford appears behind Stanley and clasps the smaller man’s shoulder. “Good to see you got better!”

“Y-yeah, the—uh—cold finally went away. Sorry for missing so much work.”

“It’s no trouble!” Stanford leads him into the house. “Come on! There’s something I’m working on that I wanted to show you!”

Stanley shuts the door behind them and proceeds to walk stiffly over to the couch and sits down. He keeps his eyes glued to the TV as the two men jabber on about science and nerd stuff. The two waste no time in making their way down to the basement to make up for lost time. Stanley watches them go out of the corner of his eye.

He sits on the couch feeling lame. He wants to see him. The need is rapidly growing in his chest, taking over his heart with remarkable speed. It aches so badly that he’s startled by its ferocity. Fiddleford needed space, he thinks firmly. He needed time and Stanley should know better than to violate that. 

And so he doesn’t follow them down into the basement. He doesn’t go bother them like he normally would. He doesn’t make awful jokes that no one laughs at and doesn’t tease Fiddleford about his latest invention. He just sits there and does nothing.

For about 10 minutes.

It was just that Fiddleford was finally back, right? So that meant that he was ready to face him again, right? It’d been a week—a torturous week—but he was here now and maybe, just maybe it’d be okay if Stanley said hello? Just a simple greeting. He just wanted one. He’d be okay with that he’s sure. Then he’d go back to leaving him alone. 

Mind made up, Stanley determinedly makes his way down the stairs and into the cooler temperatures of the basement. He could hear soft murmuring and clinks of metal. He never understood much of what went on down here. It had seemed like a bunch of mumbo jumbo to him, but that never stopped him from being curious. 

He turns the last corner and stops dead on. Fiddleford was hunched over a table, hair falling over his eyes in a way that begged to be brushed back by careful fingers. The awful pit in Stanly’s stomach grows and he contemplates going back up. Seeing him wasn’t helping at all, and the longer he stands there the more he has to finally admit the awful truth: the urges that he’d felt in that forest haven’t gone away. They’re not as strong as before, no longer demanding and immediate, but he still feels the urge to reach out and _touch_. It’s impossible to deny now that he’s seeing the man again after a week of nothing. The dreams, the lingering memories, the ache in his chest; it had been festering in the back of his brain for several days now. Lying in bed, refusing to get up to greet the day (another day he wouldn’t be able to see Fiddleford), he’d been forced to look back and examine every single interaction he’d ever had with the engineer and it had become increasingly apparent that he’s wanted to touch Fiddleford for far longer than he’d originally thought.

How could he have been so dense? Everything about Fiddleford drove him crazy. All he could ever think about was Fiddleford’s adorable southern accent and the way his lips quirked up in a small smile. The way he looked at him with wide eyes and a tilted head in that confused little—

Stanley freezes. Fiddleford was _looking right at him_. He wants to smack himself for drifting off in his thoughts like that. But there was no use backing out now. He was caught. He steps awkwardly into the room. 

“Hey...” The sentence trails off after Stanley realizes he doesn’t know what he wants to say. 

Stanford notices him and smiles brightly. “Come down to join the nerd session, Stan?”

The teasing settles lightly around Stanley’s heart and he smiles back. “Just wanted to watch the nerds in their natural habitat.”

Stanford rolls his eyes and looks back at whatever it was he was working on. Stanley looks over to Fiddleford to see his reaction, but the engineer hasn’t moved a muscle. A dark heaviness settles on Stanley’s shoulders. Usually Fiddleford would be the one to offer up a snarky comeback. It had been extremely funny in their early interactions the way the man would step cautiously around Stanley as if he were a bomb that could go off at the wrong comment. But after watching Stanley and Stanford’s banter Fiddleford had realized it was all in good fun and had eventually joined in. To Stanley’s immense surprise—and secret delight—the smaller man turned out to be even more sassy than even his brother. 

But Fiddleford wasn’t saying anything now. He was just sitting there, quietly observing. Stanley resists the urge to rub at his chest. He misses feeling closer to the man. He misses the cheekiness and the banter. He misses laughing with him and talking with him. He misses it all.

A dangerous thought forms in the back of his mind and although he knows it’s incredibly selfish of him, he can’t help listening to it anyway. He doesn’t want to avoid Fiddleford anymore. He doesn’t want to give him his space. He wants to be with Fiddleford all the time. He wants to try to start up conversations with him. He wants to see him react, anything other than that blank look and the hesitance behind those hazel eyes.

He clears his throat with an awkward cough. “Well, uh, I guess I’ll go back upstairs.”

Stanford lifts a hand in a wave, but Fiddleford doesn’t even look at him. Dejected, Stanley makes his way back up the lonely path to the kitchen. He realizes with a startling force that he’s actually quite hungry and decides to raid the kitchen for comfort food. A thought strikes him that he should make sandwiches for the men downstairs as well. Fiddleford didn’t normally forget to eat, but his brother did a lot. Maybe if Stanley made him something Fiddleford would at least stop avoiding eye contact? Food was a way to a man’s heart after all...

Stanley stutters to a stop. Where the hell had that thought come from? He wasn’t trying to get Fiddleford to fall in love with him, he just wanted to be friends again. It wasn’t like that. He glares at the counter as if it had been the one to put the thought into his head. It wasn’t like that at all.

His heart gives a painful squeeze and he sighs. In all honesty though this wasn’t about getting Fiddleford to return his feelings because, holy hell he had _feelings_ for him. He’s still just trying to process this fairly new—and fairly terrifying—information. Stanley knew he was a selfish man, but he wasn’t so awful as to have the gall to actually act on his urges after what had happened the first time. Even if they couldn’t have helped what had happened that day, Stanley could at least control himself now. And he swore it would never happen again. He’d protect Fiddleford against anything that threatened him, including himself.

Stanley fishes out the mayonnaise and spreads it onto a couple of slices of bread. Maybe if he focused on trying to show Fiddleford that everything was still okay between them, the other man could find it in himself to forgive him. Then maybe they could be friends again.

He laughs darkly at the thought. Fiddleford would probably never forgive him. If he was in the other man’s shoes he sure as hell wouldn’t. But still, he can’t help wanting to at least try and patch things up. All this avoiding each other was driving him crazy. And he hated not being able to just talk to the man whenever he felt like it. 

So he waits. And he waits. Every day he brings them sandwiches. Stanford was surprised but pleased at the unprecedented show of thoughtfulness. Fiddleford would quietly take his food, offering a small, flustered ‘thank you’ and Stanley counted it as a victory. 

And then one day it happens. Stanley cracks a joke at his brother, he doesn’t even remember what it was about, but Fiddleford laughs. An honest to god, gut bursting laugh and it’s _beautiful_. He feels like he’s floating the entire time. It gets easier to joke with Fiddleford after that. It’s easier to talk to him and smile at him. They eventually fall back into their regular routine and Stanley has never been more grateful in his whole life.

But sometimes the memories take over without warning. Sometimes they’ll be fine one minute, talking about pterodactyls vs quetzalcoatluses , and then Fiddleford will turn his head exposing his neck— _heat, skin, oh god he tasted so good_ —and Stanley would have to shakily look away, burying the images back down into the darker corners of his mind. Other times their hands would brush— _fingernails sinking into skin, so deep it’s digging into his heart_ —and they’d both jerk away followed by a tense silence.

Every little thing Fiddleford does makes Stanley hyper aware of the man in a way he’d never been before. He’s never noticed all the little ticks and innocent things that made Fiddleford, Fiddleford. 

Overall, despite the patches and band-aids they manage to slap onto their friendship, there are still moments when he sees Fiddleford tense up and step away. Stanley hates these moments because he can’t help wanting to touch the other man, to comfort him in ways Fiddleford would never accept. It never fails to send waves of guilt through his stomach. And although Stanley knows he should back off in when Fiddleford freezes up, he can’t help it when all he wants to do is _step closer_. But he can never touch him again. He’s seen to that himself. Fiddleford had always called him a brute before, and it hurts to know that he’d been right all along. Stanley had single-handedly proven that when he’d forced himself upon the engineer in the forest.

And now, not only is he selfish enough to want more, but he just can’t seem to stay away. When he had touched him that day, in the grass and the fallen leaves, he’d felt so alive. But he’s terrified. He’s fucking terrified because the truth of it was that he’s never wanted anyone more than he wants Fiddleford. Stanley didn’t deserve him, and it was his own fault. 

Everything was always his fault.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Bad Blood by Taylor Swift because I’m so original. Wow. Look at me go.


End file.
